


winter knight

by heurodis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of past abuse, Past Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heurodis/pseuds/heurodis
Summary: Her hands open; a blue rose is threaded between her fingers.“These roses only bloom in winter,” she says.





	winter knight

i.

The snow eases at dusk. 

It fell steadily all day, at times whipped into such a frenzy by the wind that she feared they would have to take shelter. She spent much of the journey casting anxious glances to her left, but each time found her companion gazing upward, skin bared to the sky, snow melting in her red hair. Every step of the horse seemed to give her a little more drive, each breath of the wind a little more life. 

Now, as she sets up camp with Podrick, Brienne watches Lady Stark slip away to the edge of the tree-line, a cloaked figure standing dark against the grey sky. Brienne does not dare let her out of sight, nor does she wish to disturb her, so she merely watches, for a time. 

Dusk falls, and Lady Stark still stands frozen like a statue on the edge of a darkening world. 

Words have never come easy to Brienne, less still words of comfort. She is vividly aware of her own heavy footfall on the icy ground, how the girl's cheek flinches a little at the approach. Brienne is careful to stand a little away. She opens and closes her mouth. Her tongue feels stiff, searching for words she is incapable of expressing. 

A strange violet light hangs over the snow. In the silence it feels as if the world is holding its breath. Lady Stark does not turn. Her hands are closed around something unseen.

Brienne finds words, and they fall to the ground, inadequate. “I don’t know what you have suffered, my lady. But I do know what men like that are capable of. And I am so sorry.”

Lady Stark's head lowers. Her hands open; a blue rose is threaded between her fingers. 

“These roses only bloom in winter,” she says. 

Her voice is quiet, but it does not waver. Gaze still lowered, she reaches out with her gloved hand and presses the rose into Brienne’s hands. 

She hardly knows what to do with such a gift. Her hands clutch it clumsily, ill-used to holding such a delicate thing. 

At last, Lady Stark looks up at her, with eyes blue enough to drown in. 

“It matches your eyes,” she says. 

Brienne has never seen a sadder smile. “And yours, my lady.”

Lady Stark looks away at that, folding her arms around herself. It is a move Brienne recognises painfully well.

“I must thank you, Lady Brienne. I thought no one would come.” 

“If I had only come sooner -”

“That you came at all,” Sansa Stark says, very softly, “is enough.” 

 

ii.

After the council, Sansa sits on the edge of her bed in the small room they share within Castle Black. There is animation in her movements these days that she lacked before, a determination in her eyes and even the faintest glimmer of hope. Brienne puts it down to her brother’s presence, for she herself can’t find anything to like about the dank castle with the scowling men that lurk in every corner. 

Thus it is with reluctance that she agrees to depart for Riverrun. 

“I do not like to leave you here alone,” she says, standing stiffly in the middle of the room. “These men of the nights watch, they have reputations. And as for that wildling fellow…” 

“I think he likes you.”

“He looks at me like I am meat.”

“Don’t worry,” Sansa says. “I’ll protect you.”

She looks almost cheeky, and Brienne’s mouth twitches. 

“And as for the night’s watch, I have Jon. He will protect me, while you are gone.”

For a moment Brienne wants to say that Jon Snow could not protect himself from the night’s watch, let alone someone else, but she bites her tongue. 

“What of the Knights of the Vale?” she asks instead. “Will you accept their aid? 

Sansa’s smile fades, her body stiffening. “To accept their aid, I must first accept Lord Baelish’s.” Her chin lifts a fraction. “He sold me to Ramsey, knowing what he was. The moment I accept his help, I allow him back in. I will not resort to that until I have tried every possible alternative.” 

Brienne must wear her apprehension on her face, because Sansa reaches up and touches her sleeve. 

“I trust only you with this. I will be well here, with Jon.”

“Your mother sent me away too,” she blurts out. “And I could not protect her.” 

They both seem to freeze in the silence. Catelyn Stark’s name has not been spoken since the vow. 

Sansa’s hand drops to her lap. “That was different. She sent you to find me, and so you did.”

_Not soon enough,_ Brienne thinks. _I failed there too._ She drops her eyes to the ground. The hand touches her sleeve again. She has never known a touch so gentle. 

“My mother protects me even in death,” Sansa whispers. “After all, she sent me you.”

 

iii.

She knows her mistake the moment she rides into the recaptured Winterfell and sees Lord Baelish standing on the battlements.

Though Sansa tells her all is well – that she had little choice when she learned no help would come from Riverrun, that she needs him so that the Vale knights will fight with them against the army of the dead – her voice is colder. Every word is carefully chosen. Brienne reaches out and finds a stone wall. Silently, she is pushed away.

The presence of Lord Baelish at Winterfell seems to draw Sansa inward. Walls have formed that were not there before, and the hostility of Arya Stark does not aid matters. Brienne watches, she always watches, but these are dangers she does not know how to fight. She cannot cut down lords with her sword, however much she might wish it, nor can she fight in the dark. And Sansa confides in no one but herself nowadays. Excepting, perhaps, Lord Baelish. 

Not for the first time, Brienne thinks of Lady Catelyn, and nearly weeps to think of what she would say if she saw Lord Baelish clinging to Sansa’s side like a leech. _I have failed her._

When she is summoned and finds Sansa alone, she thinks she might try once more to talk of Baelish. She does not get the chance.

“You would send me away again? Surely this is not the time -”

“There is to be a council in King’s Landing,” Sansa cuts her off briskly. “I cannot leave Winterfell now, so you must represent me.”

“I believe that I am needed here more, my lady. Please.”

Sansa eyes her, face curiously blank. “Why?”

“Why – Lord Baelish is not to be trusted. While he is here you cannot remain unprotected.”

“Do not concern yourself with Lord Baelish, Brienne.

“My lady – Sansa.” She lays herself bare. “I beg you to let me stay by your side.”

For a moment, something seems to stir in the blue of Sansa’s eyes, something warm. It vanishes so quickly it might have been nothing but Brienne's own longing. 

“You must trust me,” Sansa says flatly. 

“I do. I trust you wish to do whatever is best for your home and family. But – I have seen you. Before the battle at Winterfell, and ever since. And I am afraid that you place little value on your own life.”

“So you do not trust me to protect myself?”

“I do not know. Sometimes I – I think you are waiting for death.” 

She stares at the floor, red with shame for speaking so against the one she is sworn to serve. But suddenly Sansa’s hands are on her shoulders and she is kissing her cheek.

“You are the truest knight,” Sansa says, and she smiles – a warm, real smile. “I trust you with my life. Now you must trust me with it.”

.

Lord Baelish slides up to her as she is preparing her horse. 

“I am surprised at you, Lady Brienne,” he says. “You do not strike me as the kind of woman to leave her lady’s side.”

Brienne grinds her teeth and fixes her eyes ahead, not trusting herself to look at him, but his voice is like water, slipping through the cracks and spreading. 

“I confess surprise at the Lady Sansa’s decision too. I know she finds your protection invaluable. But you need not fear, she will have all the protection she needs.”

Her fist is closing around his neck before either of them know what is happening. 

“If you lay a hand on her,” she hisses, “I will not hesitate to take your head.”

Angry at herself for her lack of discipline, she releases him and swings onto her horse. He stumbles a little in the mud, but his eyes catch hers before she can turn her horse around. 

The cold triumph in them haunts her the whole ride to King’s Landing.

 

iv.

She returns north as soon as she is able. May the dust of King's Landing choke its rulers; she does not wish to linger where _he_ still stands devoted at his sister’s side. _Jaime, why would you not come with me?_ When the first snow starts to fall she thinks of that first ride to Castle Black, when Sansa had kept her hood down and let the flakes melt on her cheeks. 

“You worry about Lady Sansa?” 

She holds herself from snapping at Podrick; he means well. 

“She is alone.” 

“She has her sister.” 

_A sister who seems to despise her._ She had not known what to make of Arya Stark; the girl seemed to slip about like a shadow.

Little more is said of it, but the snow thickens and so does her dread, and by the time she rides through the gates she is half-sick with terror.

“Where is Lord Baelish?” She throws the words and herself at the nearest guard.

He jumps half a foot in the air. “Lord -? He was executed by Lady Stark for treason, my lady.”

Shock strikes her still for a moment. She does not dare believe it. 

“Truly?” Podrick asks, in her place. 

The surge of affection she feels for him then is unprecedented. 

“Lady Stark is in council with the lords now,” the guard offers, recovered from his own scare. “She said -”

Brienne misses his next words as she turns on her heel and marches to the hall. She does not intend to interrupt, but one of the guards at the door slips inside when he sees her, and the other informs her that Lady Stark wished to be notified at once of her arrival. Upon the guard’s return, she steps cautiously into the hall.

Sansa sits tall at the head of the table, her brother and sister on either side. She rises as surely as a queen. 

“Your return has been much longed-for, Lady Brienne,” she says, and her eyes glow so warmly Brienne almost blushes to be the cause of it. “It is good to see you.”

Her voice reigns louder and stronger than it has ever been. 

To Brienne, it is like a song. 

 

v.

The dragons have gone. 

The sky that was once red is now pitch-black, and Brienne can’t see the dead as they run at her. Screams that once filled the air are dying one by one. 

The silence is worse than the screams. 

She can barely see her companions; she thinks for a moment that they have gone too, until she hears his cry. Ploughing through the snow, she swings at the Other in a frenzy, plunging Oathkeeper blindly in the dark. There is a hiss, and silence. 

She crawls to Jaime. She can hardly see his face in the dark as he shudders in her arms. 

“You must live,” she sobs. “Jaime, you must live.”

_Do not make me kill you, I could not bear it._ Podrick, her own loyal, foolish Podrick, died at Winterfell, twice. The second time at her own hand. 

She can sense them coming. Jaime has fallen still. There is surely no chance now. And Brienne has no choice. She never has. 

.

The last wight falls without a sound. 

Alone on the edge of the world, Brienne sinks to her knees in the snow. Jaime’s body and so many others lie somewhere behind her. Her own heavy, rasping breaths pierce the silence. The wind has died somewhere over the hill, leaving the tears to slide untested down her cheeks. 

And then – unexpected – light falls on the snow. Slowly, aching, hardly daring to hope, she lifts her face to the sky, and sees the clouds beginning to part.

At dawn, Brienne finds herself alive, and blinking in the light. 

 

vi.

The survivors stagger into Winterfell. Out of the buildings people trickle, one by one, popping their heads out of windows, fright in their eyes turning to hope. Soon they swarm, shouts for medicine and food and blankets mingling with cries to form an overwhelming din. The sun is breaking over the horizon; already the snow is melting. 

Brienne hands the Unsullied soldier she has been supporting for several miles to two women who wrap him in furs and help him away. She herself falls against a wall, aching for sleep. Someone hands her a bowl of something, someone else jabbers at her incoherently but she understands none of it, and it is all too easy to let the bowl slip from her fingers and close her eyes. 

Faces drift white and empty in the dark. She hears Podrick's weeping; he had been so brave. Jaime's cry, a dragon's scream. And a light, a flame on the hill, red in the night... 

She drifts out of the dream and finds the world so agonisingly bright she has to close her eyes again for a moment. The bowl and its contents are splattered at her feet. The world swims white before her. And red. 

Sansa is running, flaming against the white landscape, and she falls to her knees in the snow. Whatever she says is lost as Brienne's head sinks forward of its own free will. She hears her own sobs muffled against the furs, and feels warm arms wrapping around her tightly. 

At last, Brienne sleeps. 

.

The next thing she knows, she is in the hall of Winterfell, someone has wrapped up her arm and Sansa is sitting beside her. 

The moment she shifts to her elbows, she realises her hand is claimed by another. Sansa's hands are bare around hers.

“There was a man of the night’s watch who needed gloves more,” Sansa says, catching her look.

Brienne almost smiles. “I have something for you.” The croak of her own voice frightens her; she has not uttered a word aloud in so long. 

Her hands are stiff with frostbite as they fumble inside her cloak and draw out what she had stashed inside. It nearly falls between her fingers as she holds it out.

“It is the last one of winter, I think,” she says. Tears are springing to her eyes, though whether from grief or exhaustion she no longer knows. 

Sansa's fingers lightly trace the petals. Her eyes are fiercely bright. 

“A winter rose, for a winter knight.” 

And then Brienne hugs her, the blue rose crushed between their hands.


End file.
